“Curiosity killed the cat.” Deke chuckles.
He was expecting me. “Are you gonna kill me?” I almost smile.
He tilts his head to the side and bites his bottom lip as he contemplates that idea. My body heat rises like it seems to do when I’m around him. “Is that what you want?” he asks, reaching out and taking a lock of my hair. He rubs it between his fingers. “Want me to hurt you, Demi?” I swallow nervously because I know this man would do exactly that. I’d have to give him a reason, but once I pushed him to that limit, he wouldn’t think twice. “Is that why you keep coming around me?” He chuckles, and I don’t miss the innuendo.
“No.” My answer is nothing more than a whisper. Not true, but not totally wrong.
I come around you because I hate you. And I want my sister to smell my perfume on you. I want her to know I’ve been near you. Touched you. I want to watch her go crazy knowing I have taken something from her. Something she was so sure would be there when she decided to quit being a fucking whore and come back.
The corners of his lips turn up. “Liar.” My heart begins to pound, and he leans forward, his lips now inches from mine. “You’re more fucked up than I originally thought,” he whispers.
“Excuse me?” This coming from a monster. We’re more alike than you could ever imagine, Deke.
“I stood outside your room while you watched that documentary. Into murder, are you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about …”
“You lie as bad as your sister does.”
I hate that—the way he compares us—more than anything.
“Is that why I turn you on?” he asks, and his eyes leave mine to admire my lips.
“You don’t—”
He chuckles, cutting me off. “Another lie. I bet you’re wet right now, baby.” His knee pushes between my legs, easily spreading them apart. I’m panting at his closeness. His free hand comes up and cups the side of my face. His touch so soft, it has to be fake. There’s nothing tender about this man. I know he’s fucking with me, but my body isn’t getting the memo. I lean into him, wanting more. Wetness pools between my legs when he lowers his lips to my neck and kisses the sensitive skin there, sending a shiver up my spine. But I feel it’s a threat. He’s pretending to be gentle just to get close to me. He can strike easier from here. Rip my throat out with his teeth. Too bad I don’t care.
I reach out and grip the waistband of his sweatpants as his lips trail up my neck to my ear. He laughs when I moan.
My hands fist the material. My knuckles skimming the smoothness of his defined V. I have a thought of pulling them down just to see what he’ll do from there. I doubt he’ll be laughing then. “You are such a fucking …”
My words are cut short when his lips slam on mine. He doesn’t ask for permission, and I don’t push him away. His hands hold my face in place as his tongue enters my mouth. He tastes just as good as the other night at Silence. Like sin and cinnamon. It stirs something in my stomach, and I pull him closer to me. A moan escapes me as I open my lips, wanting him to take my breath away.
But he draws back and runs his knuckles over my cheek. His blue eyes hold a hint of amusement, reminding me this is just a game to him. I’m panting and so goddamn wet. And losing.
“Go home, Becky.”
My teeth grind and I snap. “Quit fucking calling me that!”
He laughs. “That’s what you want, right? To be like her?” His hands grab mine, ripping them from his sweatpants, and before I can stop him, he pins them above my head to the wall. He presses his body into mine once again. Fuck, he’s hard. My body begins to shake with need, but he ignores it. “You want me to want you like I wanted her.”
“Deke,” I warn, but my knees threaten to buckle. Every time I’m around him, he overpowers me in some way.
I like it.
Throw me on the bed, rip off my clothes, and pin me down. I’ll be your good little whore.
That’s obviously what he’s into— a girl who’s easy and stupid.
“You want me to fuck you like I did her?” His brows pull together as if he can’t quite understand the thought of that. Allowing himself to want me would be beneath him. He thinks she’s so much better than me.
And fuck, I can’t understand it either. I hate him as much as I do her, yet here I am, panting and wet all because he is touching me. Silently begging him to fuck me. “Stop,” I growl as though it’s his fault I came here. What the hell did I expect? Deke Biggs is ready and willing to play. He made that crystal clear when he showed up at my mother’s house last night. And I couldn’t stay away. I’m literally using myself as bait. And men like him, the GWS, don’t ever pass up a chance to draw blood—to eat you alive.